Drinks on the River

The men came every day, arriving as the daytime manager slid back the bolt on the front door. They walked into a darkness so solid they’d tip their heads as if dodging a blow.

2015-01-28T12:06:22+00:00 September 2nd, 2013|

Pretty Things To Hang on the Wall

I want to laugh when I hear that people are moving to Cleveland to practice their art. Then I want to spit in their faces. I want to do them grievous bodily harm. How dare they, I think. The nerve.

2015-01-28T11:52:08+00:00 August 18th, 2013|

The Tiny Record Empire in Cleveland

There’s only one Berry Gordy, but Rust Belt America in the 1960s and ‘70s was also home to at least a handful of African-American-run recording studios that thrived without bank loans ...

2015-01-28T11:42:54+00:00 August 18th, 2013|

Cleveland’s Little Iraq

My husband and I moved to Cleveland from a high rise in Queens with bewildered giddiness. In the mornings, we woke to the sounds of birds chirping. No sirens, no honks. Although the downtown was eerily quiet, traffic moved.

2015-05-14T08:31:48+00:00 August 12th, 2013|

A Transplant’s Tale

Ten years ago, I was living in Oberlin, a college town 30 miles from Cleveland. I was newly divorced, and ready to start dating, but not anyone in my small, company town. So I met Cleveland men.

2015-01-28T11:31:39+00:00 June 11th, 2013|